“I’m sorry,” Cara said softly. “I’ve been a little selfish.” He felt her palm on his back, and he was too stunned to move.

“Selfish? You’ve had everything taken away from you. How are you being selfish?”

“I didn’t think about how awful this has to be for you. Your brother has turned against you, and it might be only a matter of time before you succumb to the same fate.”

Jesus. She was serious. She actually gave a shit about how he felt. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not, but he did know he didn’t want to talk about it. “Why did you lie to Limos?”

Her hand slid up to his neck and her strong, flexible fingers massaged the tense muscles there. After all he’d just told her about the evil he’d done, she still wanted to touch him. To soothe him. He didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t do anything to stop her.

“Cara? Why?”

“Because I was worried about you.”

On some level, her admission pleased him. But on a much higher, much darker level, it pissed him the f**k off. Did she think he couldn’t take care of himself? Did she not give a shit about her own life? He rounded on her. “That was stupid, Cara. You left yourself vulnerable. Do you like being attacked? Is that it?”

“N-no.” She recoiled, and something desperate flashed in her eyes, a haunted shadow he had seen far too many times over the course of his life.

Shit. He reached for her, but a vicious snarl froze him to the ground, and hot, fetid breath against his ear sent his heart rate into a galloping speed even Battle would envy. He didn’t need to look to know Hal was crouched on the wall, his teeth just inches from his throat.

“Hal.” Cara spoke so calmly that no one could have guessed that just a moment earlier, she’d looked like she might break down. Damn… all this time, he’d wanted her to toughen up, but she was already there. She bounced back easily, fully, and most impressively. “He isn’t going to hurt me.”

Still the beast snarled, clearly not buying what Cara had to say. He lunged, and suddenly, his mouth was clamped down on Ares’s throat. The teeth didn’t puncture, but Ares couldn’t move without being bitten or scratched.

“Cara,” he gritted out. “What. The. Fuck.”

She licked her lips. “Your anger scares him. He thinks you’re tricking me.”

“Convince him otherwise.” After this, he was going to find a shaman, wizard, sorcerer… someone who could break a hellhound bond, because this a**hole mutt needed to die, and his sire along with him.

Slowly, she eased up to them both. She curled one hand in Hal’s scruff, and put her other hand around the back of Ares’s neck. Her br**sts became a soft pressure against his chest, and then she was on her toes, putting her lips on his. And what do you know, Hal’s growls grew quieter.

“See, Hal,” she whispered against his lips. “Ares won’t hurt me.” She squeezed his neck, her fingernails digging in so deep he hissed. In pleasure. “Will you?”

“No,” he said against her mouth. “Never.”

But he was a warrior, and if it came down to hurting her or saving the world, he knew what he’d choose. For the first time, the idea truly bothered him, and for the first time he actually felt like War.

Eighteen

Cara really had no idea what was up with Hal, but he’d come out of nowhere, and no matter what she said to him, he was convinced Ares was going to hurt her.

He could kill you.

“He’s not going to.”

He could. He is bad. He kills my pack. He tries to kill father.

“I know,” she whispered. The pain and death that Ares and Chaos had brought down on each other was staggering.

I bite him.

“No!” She stroked Hal’s fur, desperate to calm him down. “I need him to protect me, like I need you. There are a lot of bad people who want me dead. You know that, right?”

Hal growled. I kill them.

All this talk of killing was seriously disturbing, and she didn’t know if she’d ever get used to this world, these beings. Heck, she didn’t want to get used to it. No one should ever grow numb to death.

“Hal, you must only harm those who mean us harm.”

Like War.

“He means us no harm.” No doubt the conversation seemed strange to Ares, who could hear only one side, and it didn’t help that he kept tensing. Each twitch of his muscles made Hal’s huge claws dig deeper into the stone wall. Scorch marks spread from beneath his paws, creating blackened veins in the rock. It was scary as hell, and she had to wonder what other surprises she was in for with the hellhound. Slowly, she ran her hand through Ares’s silky hair and made sure Hal saw her nuzzle his cheek. “See? He likes me.”

A dubious growl vibrated the air. She put her lips to Ares’s again. “Kiss me,” she murmured, and though she knew Ares could hardly move, he dipped his head, just slightly, to increase the pressure on her mouth. And while it might be crazy, the feel of him made her skin sizzle.

She kept kissing him, and gradually, Hal stopped growling. He released his hold on Ares’s throat, and instantly, the tension drained from Ares’s body. Wisely, though, he didn’t move away from her. In fact, one arm came around her waist, and he hauled her tightly against him.

“You can go, Hal. Keep me safe by patrolling the island. Find rats.”

Tasty. Hal’s lips peeled back as he shot Ares a warning look. He is danger.

Yes, he was, but she didn’t say anything, simply clung to Ares as Hal disappeared over the wall. She expected Ares to release her, but instead, he kissed her again. “I hate your dog,” he muttered against her lips. “I want him to be stuffed and mounted on my wall. But I’m tired of fighting him, you, and myself.”

Himself? “What does that mean?”

His long fingers swept over his throat, over that tiny crescent scar, and his armor melted away, leaving her crushed against his chest. His thigh parted hers, and she nearly moaned at the delicious pressure of his hard muscle against her core. “It means that sometimes, to win a war, you have to change tactics.” He smiled against her mouth. “I’m flexible like that.”

He swept her up, and before she could protest—or encourage him—he laid her out on the patio couch. The cushions sank deep under their weight. His calloused palm slid beneath her sweatshirt, and he shuddered when he reached her bare br**sts.

“No bra,” he said against her mouth. “Thank you. I hate those things. Dumbest human invention. Ever.”

She captured his hand, encouraging his touch, loving the way he was both gentle and rough, a combination of long strokes over her flesh and stinging pinches on her ni**les. Her br**sts swelled, ached, and as if he knew she was wanting more, he stripped her sweatshirt off, tossed it to the ground, and took her in his mouth. He drew deep, his tongue rasping over her sensitive ni**les, leaving her dazed, breathless, and oh so wet.

“Yesssss…” Her moan of pleasure floated into the twilight, joining the crash of waves and the distant call of sea birds. This was the most beautiful thing she’d ever experienced, a moment she’d remember forever.

Forever might be very short.

Flushing the depressing thought from her mind, she dug her nails into his shoulders and arched her back, needing to feel the entire length of his body against hers. His thighs parted her legs, putting his sex where she wanted it, and as she writhed and his h*ps rolled, heat built at her center, and lust intoxicated her.

It didn’t take long before he was working her jeans’ zipper, and her hands were just as frantic, tearing open his pants to release his massive length. The moment it sprang free, she took the shaft in her fist, reveling in the desperate male sound that broke from his throat.

His gaze gleamed with hunger as it locked with hers. Lips parted to allow for his panting breaths, he braced himself on one arm and slid his palm under her panties. His fingers slipped between her folds, and he groaned.

“You’re so wet.” One finger pushed inside her, and she nearly came. “So tight.”

“I thought I was too weak for you.” She squeezed his cock, rubbed her finger in the drop of wetness at the tip, and he hissed in pleasure.

“I was wrong,” he rasped. “I’ve seen how you handle Battle, Hal… and me. I was so f**king wrong.”

He leaped off the sofa, yanked her jeans from her legs, and then stripped out of his clothes. When he was done, he stood in front of her, a stunning work of masculinity. And, to her delight, he was as smooth and hairless between his legs as he was on his chest. Her heart jerked as he palmed his straining erection.

“I never do this.” He squeezed himself, and she became glued to the motion he began—long, slow pumps of his fist down the length and back up to swallow the head as he delivered a little twist.

“Um… you never… masturbate?”

His eyes were slits behind his heavy lids, but the intensity was in no way diminished. “I never slow it down like this. It’s always rough and hard with a female.” He sank down between her legs, but he never stopped the erotic play with his penis. “It’s always been about the release. The who-can-fuck-who-the-hardest.”

Images of him pounding into other women—females, as he called them—wrung a nasty punch of jealousy out of her, but when she inserted herself into the picture, she flamed hot. To have all that undiluted sexual power ramming into her like a force of nature… oh, God.

“I want that.”

Her declaration sent a shudder through him, and his strokes sped up. The idea excited him. “Not… now.”

He still thought she was too weak. But if it were true that she was dying, she certainly wasn’t going to get any stronger. “Ares—”

“No. You aren’t like those other females. I want this to be different.” He backed up, lowering his head between her legs. There was no warning, just his hot, wet tongue penetrating her slit.